The Evolution of the Salesman
My Grandfather, the Salesman
My grandfather died in 1987 from complications of lung cancer. He was 63 and I was 8. As the years go by, the memories of my grandfather and the times we spent together fade but the feelings of those memories remain. In many ways, these feelings have come to shape who I am and who I continually aspire to be.
He was a WW2 veteran, a Lieutenant in the Arlington Fire Department, a father of five kids and sole provider for his family. (Remember when single income families were a thing? Me neither.)
He had to take multiple jobs during his life to make ends meet. One of these jobs was as a furniture salesman at a store in town. (Remember when you could actually work in the town you lived in? Me neither.)
My grandfather didn’t fit the classic stereotype of a salesman and I always found that strange. I couldn’t picture him “selling” anything to anyone. It wasn’t until later in my life that I figured out how a guy who was as stand-up as they come, as authentic as they come, could save someone in a fire on Tuesday and sell them a dining room set on Wednesday.